


California

by hailingstars



Series: good kid [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Beaches, Chess, Death Star, Depressed Peter Parker, Depression, Disney World & Disneyland, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Parent Tony Stark, Rain, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-05 11:09:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17323904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hailingstars/pseuds/hailingstars
Summary: Peter is still struggling after May has left him with Tony, so Tony decides they should spend his Spring Break at his new house in Malibu.or5 times Tony tries to pull Peter out of his depression (by torturing him) and 1 time he sits in his depression with him.





	1. the beach

Peter was lost in space. 

He soared through one galaxy or another at the speed of light, or at least, that’s the way it felt. Just his mind was lost and swimming in the stars, and he preferred it that way, preferred shutting his brain off and watching Star Wars movies over and over again to having fully operational thoughts. Those were the kind that led to fully operational breakdowns. He was done with those, done with crying and freaking out over something completely beyond his control.

He was fine. Clearly. Never better. As long as he could sit there on the floor in the theater room, back pressed up against one of the chairs and head tilted slightly up, staring at the giant screen that stretched across the wall. Peter was fine. As long as he never had to look away from the movie and back at real life.

Unfortunately real life planted himself between the screen and Peter. Real life was rattling off, talking frantic and fast, saying things that were very clever and snarky he was sure, but they were also things Peter couldn’t be bothered listening to. He shifted his head, trying to see around the interruption that would not go away.

“Hey,” said Mr. Stark. He snapped his fingers in front of Peter’s face, and took a step to the side, once again blocking his view of the movie. “Dumbo. Listen up.”

Peter craned his neck, attempting to see around him.

“Fri shut it off,” said Mr. Stark.

The screen went black, and Peter was forced to look up at Mr. Stark.

“How long has it been since you’ve seen daylight?” he asked. “What the hell is all this trash doing lying around on the floor?”

Admittedly he had been sort of a slob. His throw blanket was the only object around that wasn’t a piece of trash. He sat in an ocean of candy bar wrappers, empty chip bags and empty soda cans. Those were the most pathetic. He’d been looking for something else, something with a bit more kick, but quickly learned every drop of alcohol was under lock and key.  

Just one time. He got drunk and almost died that one time and every adult in his life acted like he was a budding alcoholic.

He supposed he deserved it, but it didn’t mean he wanted to be treated like someone who had zero self-control.

His thoughts drifted to May, and he wondered how she would have reacted to the crab melt incident. He only allowed it for a few seconds, before remembering he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about her. His eyes flickered back to the screen, but it was black, so instead they found Mr. Stark.

His expression didn’t match his annoyed and harsh tone. It was softer and stung Peter worse than if he would have been glaring at him. He didn’t need pity.

“Alright, let’s go. Up. Get up,” said Mr. Stark. Peter continued to stare at him. “It’s not a suggestion.”

“Mr. Stark…”

“Nope. Don’t wanna hear your whining.”

Before Peter could stop it from happening, before he could grab the chair and secure himself to his favorite spot on the floor, he was yanked up to his feet by his arm. He wobbled, at first, and almost fell backwards, but Mr. Stark steadied him. He turned him around by his shoulders, towards the door, and marched him out of the theater.

They walked through the living room, with all its sleek furniture and extravagance, and out to the balcony. Fresh air hit his face, blew through his hair, and carried the scent of salt water. Down below, waves crashed against the shore.

Retreating to Malibu for Peter’s spring break had been, of course, Mr. Stark’s idea. Time away would do him some good, or at least that’s what he was told. Peter wasn’t so sure. He didn’t see how being abandoned in California was any different than being abandoned in New York. The sunshine, he guessed, as if nice weather and sunlight made everything okay. 

He stood by the railing with Mr. Stark’s arm slung over his back and his hand resting on his shoulder. The sky was orange, and the sun was setting. The last rays of light were bouncing off the water, racing from the sun to where they stood overlooking the ocean.

It was all very beautiful and picturesque. Peter just didn’t care.

“See? Fresh air, water, sunsets,” said Mr. Stark. “Outside is good.”

“Great. Can I go back _inside_ now?”

Mr. Stark’s disappointment wasn’t expressed out loud, but Peter felt him sigh. He knew he was worried. Peter couldn’t find the energy to care about that, either. 

“Yeah. You can go inside and take a shower,” said Mr. Stark. “Then we’ll go for a walk.”

Peter backed away and ducked out from under Mr. Stark’s arm. Suddenly he was very aware that he couldn’t remember the last time he showered. It had been back in New York, probably, because he definitely didn’t remember showering yet at the Malibu house.

“A walk?”

“Yeah. Exercise. I figure you need it since Spidey’s been playing hookey and you’ve been wasting away in front of the TV.”

Looking at Mr. Stark, he knew there was no fighting it, or at least, no amount of protest that would do any good. Mr. Stark wasn’t someone who was used to not having his way, and Peter was getting used to his personal preferences getting shoved aside.

“Fine.”

He dragged his feet inside and all the way to his bedroom. Somehow, he felt more miserable than when he woke up this morning.

There was something sort of embarrassing and unnatural about Mr. Stark’s level of involvement in his life. That Iron Man was ordering him to take a shower and forcing him to exercise. He wasn’t used to it from any adult. Not anymore, and that was the most uncomfortable truth that Mr. Stark’s hovering uncovered, something he hadn’t realized before. May’s involvement, their interacting, faded long before she made the decision to remove herself from his life together.

It’d been such a slow decline, it’d been easy to miss, but that didn’t make Peter feel any less stupid for not seeing it as it was happening.

* * *

By the time he was done taking a shower and getting dressed, it was dark outside.

His hair was still soaking wet as he walked just one pace behind Mr. Stark. They kept to the part of the sand that stayed consistently damp thanks to the rising and falling tide, and Peter felt relaxed. The rushing sound of water, the occasional wave washing over his feet, and the moon, hung high in the night sky. 

It was better. He felt better. He didn’t know he needed this, but Mr. Stark did and cared enough to put up with him long enough to force him into it. He started to feel less embarrassed and more grateful by Mr. Stark’s insistent involvement.

Almost. 

About the same time he started to come to this realization, Mr. Stark stopped walking and stuck his foot out. There was no time to react. Peter’s foot caught on his, and before he could correct himself and balance, Mr. Stark pushed him into the ocean, straight into an incoming wave. The salt water engulfed him completely as he fell backwards into the sand, and when the ride receded, when he sat up, he was drenched.

“Hey!” said Peter, spitting out salt water as he yelled. Mr. Stark grinned. “What was that for?”

He shrugged. “You looked a little tired. Thought a swim might wake you up. You’re welcome.”

Peter stayed planted in the water, his fingers digging into the sand, and glared. It didn’t have the desired effect. Mr. Stark broke into laughter, and that hadn’t exactly been what Peter had been aiming for.

“Is this how you try to intimidate all those criminals you chase down as Spider-Man? You look like a drown, angry kitten.” Mr. Stark waded deeper into the ocean, closer to Peter, and stopped when the water came up half way between his feet and his knees.

Peter splashed around in the water. “I wonder if there’s any crabs in here…”

All humor vanished from Mr. Stark’s face, and the look he gave made Peter immediately backtrack. He didn’t understand how Mr. Stark could display so much venom with one look, and his glares possessed none.

“I’m joking,” added Peter, quickly.

“That’s not funny." 

He turned and started to walk away, leaving Peter shivering in the water, but he couldn’t have that. It wasn’t fair. He leapt and lunged forward, catapulting himself into the back of Mr. Stark’s legs and bringing him down into water.

It turned into a splashing, wrestling match, but it was one that didn’t last very long. Peter was easily dragged back to shallow water and pinned against the sand by Mr. Stark’s forearm. He grinned in victory for less than a second, before his triumphant look turned into one of utter confusion. 

“Pete,” he said. His head hovered above him, and the concern written there was evident even in the darkness. “How am I stronger than you right now?”

“Umm,” said Peter. He tried to remove Mr. Stark’s arm from his chest, used both his hands, but gave up quickly. He couldn’t do it. “I sort of… lost my powers.”

Mr. Stark’s frown was immediate. “That’s why you haven’t been going out as Spider-Man.”

“Yeah.”

That and his complete lack of interest. There was no point. Every time he caught a criminal, there was another one or two who got away. He was just so tired, too tired, to be dealing with that every night, but he didn’t mention this extra reason to Mr. Stark. He was worried enough already.  

“Kid, these are the types of things I need you to tell me.”

“Doesn’t this count?” 

“No it doesn’t count,” he snapped, with an annoyed edge that made Peter brace for the yelling he was sure that was about to happen, but instead, Mr. Stark made a pained face, then sighed. “I’m not mad.”

He sounded mad, though, but it was hard to tell if his anger was directed at Peter, or at himself. Peter thought it was probably the latter. He could understand that, at least. Anger directed inwardly. Peter’s been angry with himself for quite awhile now. He fell short. He wasn’t good enough to keep any of his family around him, and one day, he was sure he would drive Mr. Stark away, too.

“I just wish you felt comfortable talking to me when something’s wrong.”

The tide came up, then fell away, and Peter shifted under Mr. Stark’s arm. He was too afraid to say out loud what he was thinking, that they weren’t there yet, that they were practically strangers and Peter didn’t want to bother him with this sort of stuff.

“Are you going to let me up now?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

“What?”

“When else I am going to have the opportunity to make Spider-Man say uncle? Soon you’ll have your Spidey strength back and I’ll –“ 

“-Mr. Stark –“ said Peter, as he went back to attempting to pry his arm off his chest. He hated not having his strength. Then it hit him. “Wait, you think I’ll get my powers back?”

“Of course you will,” said Mr. Stark. He removed his arm, and helped Peter sit up. “It’s part of your DNA. It’s who you are. They’ll come back.”

His confidence was comforting and gave him vision again. It’d been a long time since Peter had even pictured himself putting the suit back on, pictured himself swinging from building to building or delivering justice. After May told him they weren’t going to be a family anymore, everything became… dull, and a little numb.

But maybe he could be Spider-Man again, one day, when they got back to New York. Maybe one day it would have the same meaning to him that it used to.

“Come on,” said Mr. Stark. He stood up and offered Peter a hand. “Let’s go back.”

He accepted the hand up and was back on his feet in seconds. This time when they walked on the beach, Peter made sure he wasn’t between Mr. Stark and the ocean. The man couldn’t be trusted, at least when it came to simple things like not pushing into the waves. In other ways, Peter supposed Mr. Stark could be trusted the most, even if he wasn’t completely ready to always be totally honest with him.

Once they got back home, Peter retreated to the bathroom connected to his bedroom, where he washed the salt from his hair and got into warm, dry clothes. He crawled into his bed, buried himself under the covers, and got lost in YouTube instead of space. He’d been locked out of the theater, but his phone, at least, wasn’t something Mr. Stark could take away from him.


	2. the phone

The next morning Peter woke up to the best sound.

Rain. Heavy rain. Rain crashing down on the roof above him and shattering against the ocean outside his window.

A faint smile spread across Peter’s face before he even opened his eyes. A rainy day meant a day Mr. Stark would not and could not drag him out of the house. A rainy day meant a day where could do the only thing he really wanted to do, hide under his comforter and zone out while his favorite YouTube videos played on repeat.

Mr. Stark may have closed the theater, but Peter didn’t mind watching on a smaller screen. 

With his eyes still closed, he patted the left side of his bed, searching for his phone, but after his hand closed around nothing except soft bedsheets, he was forced to pop his eyes open. That didn’t do any good, though. His phone was nowhere, or wherever it was, it couldn’t be seen. With a growl, he jumped out of bed and pulled the comforter with him. He shook it out. Nothing fell from its folds.

Peter had a bad feeling about this, but it was more than just a feeling, really, because there was only one logical explanation.

He raced out of his room and down the stairs, finding Mr. Stark in the kitchen. He leaned over the counter with his hand wrapped around a mug of coffee. There was a notable difference between Malibu Mr. Stark and the one that lived in New York City. In Malibu, it was jeans and old t-shirts with band names printed across the front. It was sort of nice, actually. Made him into more a person and less of a celebrity.

But at that moment, he was neither a person nor a celebrity. He was the enemy.

“Where’s my phone?”

“Good morning to you, too,” said Mr. Stark. “Sleep well?”

Peter glared, then felt self-conscious about glaring. He didn’t want Mr. Stark to compare him to a kitten again. He changed his expression several times, unsure how he wanted to come across, until he gave up altogether. He pretended he didn’t see Mr. Stark’s amusement.

“Why would I know where your phone is?” he asked. Mr. Stark pulled a spoon out from the drawer, dipped it into a jar and plopped some sugar into his coffee. His eyes met Peter again as he started stirring. “Hey, maybe you left it outside.”

Peter took a deep breath in, then audibly exhaled. This time he couldn’t stop the glare in his eyes.

Mr. Stark took the spoon out of his cup and pointed it at him. “You’re getting better at that. I’m upgrading you from kitten to grown-up cat. Still adorable, with just a slight risk of minor scratches.”

“Do you always act like this when Ms. Potts isn’t around?” asked Peter. He looked around the kitchen. “When is she getting here, by the way?”

He felt like his life might improve with her around to supervise Mr. Stark, or at least, his chances of survival would increase.

“Soon,” said Mr. Stark. “And you know if you don’t stop calling her Ms. Potts, she’ll be the one tossing you into the ocean.”

“Can I just have my phone back, please?” asked Peter. His bed was all the way upstairs, but he could hear it calling for him.

Mr. Stark didn’t answer him. Instead, he moved out of the kitchen and towards the front door, motioning for Peter to follow him. Hesitantly, he did, and soon found himself standing outside, in the middle of a rainstorm, getting beat up by drops of water. The sound of rain hitting the ground, the house, the ocean, was so loud, he couldn’t hear his bed anymore, couldn’t even imagine his day going the way he had wanted it to when he woke up.

Once they got far enough away from the house that they could see the roof, Peter followed to where Mr. Stark pointed. His cellphone sat on the highest ledge, locked inside a waterproof bag, and Peter had never wanted to scratch someone’s eyes out more than in that moment. 

“Get climbing, Spidey,” yelled Mr. Stark.

“I don’t have my powers!” Peter shouted back. It was a struggle to be heard over the rain, and that was exactly the reason they should both be inside. Where it was dry. “I won’t stick.”

“Oh,” said Mr. Stark. “I guess you’ll have to go without it, then.”

Peter opened his mouth and shut it several times. He tried to find the right words to complain with but came up short each time. He looked back up at his poor phone high up on the roof, then focused in on a nearby window. He ran back in the house before Mr. Stark could stop him, ran up the stairs and into the room that possessed the window closest to where his phone sat.

It was Mr. Stark’s bedroom, and since the man obviously had no problem stealing his things from his bedroom, Peter didn’t even feel bad about intruding on his privacy. He opened the window, gave a grin as rain spilled inside and carefully climbed onto the roof.

The tragedy that followed happened in steps.

First was Peter, clinging, trying hard, too hard, not to slip as he crawled on the roof in the blistering rain, and the next was him reaching, stretching, too far maybe but he was determined to have his phone back. It paid off. He grabbed the bag, and regained custody of his beloved phone, but then, he slipped.

He fell through the air, plummeted towards the earth just like the rain, except unlike the rain, Peter didn’t hit the ground. He was caught by an Iron Man suit and placed on his feet next to Mr. Stark.

Safe and sound, but also miserable and cold and wet.

Peter looked down at the waterproof bag in his hands. There wasn’t a phone inside of it anymore. Just crushed metal leaking parts. He’d squeezed it to death in the fall. He looked from the bag, to Mr. Stark, then back at the bag one last time before slamming it on the ground, turning on his heel and storming back inside the house.

“Peter!”

He sped up, and by the time he got to the front door, he was nearly running. Mr. Stark must have been running after him, because he was right behind him as went through the door.

“Peter,” said Mr. Stark, quieter this time, now that the rain wasn’t overpowering his voice, and Peter paused by the stairs. His hand hovered over the railing. “Look this is good news. You had to use your powers to do this kind of damage. Granted, I figured you would’ve used them to stick to the building when you slipped, but this works too.”

“My phone is broken,” said Peter. Sure, it was nice to hear his powers weren’t completely gone, that they could still come to him in a panic, or when he absolutely needed them too, but he couldn’t stop fixating on the loss.

In that moment, the phone carried more weight than Spider-Man, and while it made complete sense to Peter, Mr. Stark looked completely baffled.

“Your phone? You’re upset about the phone?” he asked. “I’ll get you a new one. A better one. Not some weird, off-brand version – “

“-I _like_ the off-brand version.”

It came out louder than he meant, with a sob of anger and of grief. He lost more than just a person when his aunt left, he lost his entire way of doing life. He kept losing more and more of it each day. His weird, off-brand smartphone had been one the last remaining relics, and it was gone, too. It was incredibly stupid. He knew that. There must have been something broken in him, for him to be standing in Mr. Stark’s living room like that, wringing out the ends of his shirt over and over again, with his head tilted towards the ground, about to completely lose it over a cellphone.

Mr. Stark took a step forward, and Peter tried to take a step backward. The stairs were there. He’d forgotten, and for the second time in fifteen minutes, he fell. That time he did hit the ground. He didn’t bother getting up, didn’t bother running away from Mr. Stark as he approached, sat down on the step next to him, and slung an arm around him. 

“I – I thought I was helping,” said Mr. Stark. “I thought if you knew you could use your powers again, you’d start feeling better. I didn’t mean for your phone to get broken.”

“I just wanted to stay in bed.”

“I know,” said Mr. Stark. “But I’m not going to let you sleep your life away, kid.”

And that was annoying, that Mr. Stark just wouldn’t leave him alone so he could bury himself under the covers. Peter didn’t have the luxury of being angry or annoyed, though. The same person he was upset with was also the only person who could provide him with some amount of comfort, so instead of arguing, he just let Mr. Stark hug him.

He tried to get lost there, on the bottom step, by burying his face near Mr. Stark’s shoulder and listening to the rain pound the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RIP Peter's phone.


	3. soup and smores

It figured Pepper would arrive at the Malibu house right on time to see him and Mr. Stark sitting on the bottom stair, both soaking wet and both visibly upset. Lately his life has been nothing but people catching him at his most embarrassing, most valuable moments. As it turned out, the death of his phone was no exception. 

She paused in the doorway, looked down at the splatters of water that had dripped off them, then back up at them and asked, “Are you guys okay?” 

Peter didn’t know how to answer. He didn’t have the words to describe the amount of grief he felt over losing his phone, and how stupid he felt for feeling so much grief over a stupid phone, so he just stared at her as he waited for Mr. Stark to answer for the both of them. 

“Yeah,” said Mr. Stark. His voice was dripping with more sarcasm than his shirt was water. “We’re great. Right, Pete?” 

“Y-yeah, never better,” said Peter, and he tried to make his voice sound upbeat, sarcastic like Mr. Stark’s, but instead it just came out defeated. 

Pepper narrowed her eyes at Mr. Stark, and Peter got sent to his bedroom. Under normal circumstances he’d want to eavesdrop. He found Mr. Stark and Pepper’s bickering endlessly amusing, but it was tainted somehow when he knew it was going to be about him. Besides that, there was no time for eavesdropping when he needed to change into dry clothes.

For the second time in two days, he marched up the stairs and down the hallway to his bedroom, dripping water everywhere as he did. 

All of his clothes were still in his suitcases. Unpacking seemed like a long, exhausting and pointless activity. He developed a perfectly good system that involved no effort. Clean clothes stayed in his suitcases, and dirty ones got thrown on the floor in his room or in his bathroom. So far, it was working out great. 

He searched his bag for something comfortable to wear and pulled out a plain grey t-shirt, or at least, he thought it was plain. When he straightened it out, he saw Iron Man printed across the front.

Peter didn’t remember putting it in his suitcase, but he remembered the day he bought it. He’d been out shopping with Ned. The details were blurry, but it was a good memory. It was a time from before. Before he ever even met Mr. Stark in person, before he gave him the suit, then took it away, only to give it back again, before his Aunt May hated him and wanted nothing to do with him, and before Mr. Stark set him up to fall from a roof top and broke his phone. 

He bought it when Mr. Stark was his idol, instead of the man he tried to hide from. 

Peter couldn’t pinpoint the moment when everything went on off the rails. Maybe it was the field trip that changed his life forever, or maybe it was when Uncle Ben took his last breath. He didn’t know and thinking about it made his head hurt, so after he put on dry clothes and ran a towel through his hair, he crawled back under his covers. 

He shut his eyes, and he was out cold. 

When he woke up it was to someone rubbing circles on his back. It was too gentle to be Mr. Stark, so he wasn’t surprised when he opened his eyes and saw Pepper sitting on the edge of his bed. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes, and slowly sat up, as his room came into focus behind her. 

“Hey…” she said. Her greeting barely sunk through to his brain. He was much more aware of the state of his room with her being there, and it was horrifying. “Tony said you slept through breakfast. I thought you might want to wake up and get something to eat. I have soup ready downstairs.” 

Peter never really wanted to wake up, and those days, he never really felt hungry. He needed to get Pepper out of his room, though, before she looked around and saw the mess. Somehow it was more embarrassing than Mr. Stark seeing it. 

“Yeah, okay.” 

That’s how he ended up sitting at the kitchen table with just Pepper and a giant bowl of soup in front of him. Peter stirred the soup around with his spoon. Soup was for sick people, and he supposed he was sick with something worse than the flu, something he wasn’t sure hot soup on a rainy day could sooth. 

After catching a look from Pepper, he finally brought the spoon to his mouth, swished it around in his mouth and swallowed.

“This… this is really good,” said Peter. Something clicked, and he was hungry. Really hungry. He couldn’t shovel it his mouth fast enough. “Did you make this?” 

Pepper laughed. “No. That would be the work one of Postmates bravest drivers.” 

Peter frowned as imagined some poor soul driving through a rainstorm, getting in and out of their car, just to deliver him soup. 

“Don’t worry,” she said. “He was very well tipped.” 

Right. Of course he’d been. Because Peter now lived in a world where it was reasonable to throw that much money into lunch. The thought didn’t bother him as much as he wanted it too, and he kept enjoying the soup, actually enjoying something, until his bowl was empty. 

Peter pushed his bowl forward and looked at Pepper. “Did Mr. Stark tell you he made me climb up on the roof?” 

“Yes, I’ve heard,” said Pepper, then sighed. “You know he’s trying his best, right? Sometimes he has trouble relating to anyone who’s not –“

“- a robot?” 

She smiled and nodded. They didn’t talk anymore about Mr. Stark. They heard his footsteps getting closer, and when he appeared in the kitchen, he carried a grocery bag in his hand. 

“Did you… did you go to a store?” asked Peter. He had a hard time picturing Mr. Stark cruising the aisles of a local grocery store with a cart. Usually their groceries just appeared in the kitchen like magic. 

“It was a necessary sacrifice,” said Mr. Stark. “I brought dessert.” 

Peter peaked inside the bag and saw an ungodly amount of chocolate bars, marshmallows and graham crackers. 

“Tony…” said Pepper, also eyeing the bag. “We are just three people.” 

“Have you ever seen Spider-Kid eat?” asked Mr. Stark. “He could eat three whole people.” 

Pepper rolled her eyes and dismissed herself from the smore making party Mr. Stark insisted they were going to have, citing jetlag and the need for a hot bath. 

They set up in the living room, in front of the fireplace, without her. They speared marshmallows through metal sticks and stuck them in the fire and didn’t remove them until they were nice and brown. They used them to make chucks of chocolate melt as they smashed together between graham crackers, and lastly, they made a mess with the chocolate-marshmallow goo.

“My nanny used to do this with me when I had bad days,” said Mr. Stark.

Peter looked away from him and at the fire. “Your nanny?” 

“Yeah, my parents were really busy people. Things that fell low on their priority list got assigned to the help.” 

It was hard to imagine the Starks hiring someone to parent their son the same way Pepper hired someone to bring Peter soup. Mr. Stark as kid had his parents, alive and on earth, but he didn’t really have them, the same way Peter didn’t really have Aunt May anymore. 

“It’s harder, I think,” said Peter. “When they can see you but they just don’t care. My parents and Uncle Ben didn’t have a choice, but May… she just doesn’t want me around.” 

Peter sat listened to the fire crackle while he waited for the rebuttal to come, for Mr. Stark to interject and lie to him. He waited for him to tell him May really did want to see him, but just couldn’t, for one reason or another. The lies never came, just a nod, and Peter knew he did understand, or at least was trying to. 

He thought about his Iron Man t-shirt. It was something he could never wear again, just like Mr. Stark could never be his idol again. Not because he made mistakes and let Peter down sometimes, or even a lot of times, but because Mr. Stark was becoming more than an idol, he was becoming family.  
“When you’re feeling abandoned,” said Mr. Stark. “You can just remember you’re not alone. I’m right there with you.” 

Peter nodded, and they sat quietly together. He didn’t go back to his bedroom until several hours later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhh I meant to have this up earlier, but the day got away from me. Hope you guys enjoyed, and thanks so much for reading!!


	4. the Death Star

Tony gave up on trying to trick Peter into using his powers. 

In retrospect, it’d been a stupid assumption on his part that Peter’s sadness had been caused by the loss of his Spidey abilities. It’d been easier to believe that. Something like that was easily fixed, and Tony wasn’t sure if he was up to the challenge of helping Peter deal with the actual cause of his missing abilities, his depression. 

So far, he hadn’t been doing a great job, and while he felt like he gained ground the day they ate smores in front of the fireplace, he was currently backtracking, or more accurately, losing all his progress. His latest attempt to help Peter started well. He got Peter out of his bedroom with minimal complaining, but it took a turn rather quickly after that. 

“I’m not an idiot, Mr. Stark,” said Peter. 

He sat across the table from him, a chess board between them, and a frown on his face. That was typical. Tony has learned to tune out his perpetually grumpy features, even if he did miss the excited, happy-go-lucky Peter Parker he used to be. 

Tony was determined to get that boy back. No matter how spectacularly he kept failing. 

“I’d be insulting myself to call you an idiot, Pete,” said Tony. “You’re winning.” 

“I’m not an idiot, so I know you’re letting me win.” 

Tony knew that. He knew Peter knew that he was letting him win. 

During the last ten minutes, the game had devolved into a competition of who could make the most obviously bad move, who could set the other up to win. It was fair to say in the game they were playing in reality, Tony was winning. He should’ve put a stop to the serenade, should’ve stopped pretending and started playing regularly minutes ago, but he just couldn’t stop himself, the same way he couldn’t stop himself from failing Peter over and over again. 

Tony moved the piece that would force Peter into checking the king, and with a sigh, Peter gave up and lost the game by winning the game. 

“Wanna play again?” asked Tony. 

Peter looked at him like he was the idiot. “Can I just get in the pool… for a little bit?” 

Tony arched an eyebrow and nodded, pleasantly surprised Peter hadn’t asked to go back to his bedroom, but also, a bit disappointed as he watched him go. He hadn’t been invited. Tony also didn’t know how to get Peter to stop asking permission to do things like getting in the pool or going back to his room. It was like knives in his stomach every time, especially when he was asking permission to leave his presence. 

He didn’t want to be that type of parent. He didn’t want to be Howard. 

“That was smooth,” said Pepper, from the couch. She flipped a page of her actual, physical book, in a house ran by the highest tech, as Tony sat down next to her. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

“You’re trying too hard,” said Pepper. “Just let him come to you.”

“Last time I left it up to him he almost died.” 

“No,” said Pepper. She flipped another page. “Last time he was put it a situation with unlimited alcohol on demand and no supervision he almost died.” 

“He had supervision,” said Tony, with a frown. “I was there.” 

“You weren’t paying attention to him.” 

He hadn’t thought he had to, but it was fair criticism. Back then he’d been dumb enough to believe Peter was handling May’s absence well. As it turned out, he was handling it just about as well as he handled his liquor. 

“He doesn’t need you to let him win at chess,” said Pepper. “He’ll see that as pity, and condescending.” 

“I suppose it’s a bit of both,” said Tony. 

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. He could barely deal with his own emotions, how the hell was he supposed to deal with a teenager’s? At least Peter was outside, in the pool, instead of inside, watching Star Wars over and over again. Star Wars, of all movies, was starting to drive Tony crazy, but it also, now that he thought about it, it gave him an idea. 

The best idea. 

Hours after Tony’s epiphany, Peter stood in front of him down in the workshop. His face was a little red, and Tony silenced the voices in his head that were berating him for not reminding the boy to put on sunscreen. He didn’t have the time for self-hatred. Not in that moment. He had a plan to enact. 

“FRIDAY said you wanted to see me,” said Peter. 

“Yeah.” 

He straightened out from his hunched position leaning over the worktable, and grabbed the new, sleek cellphone he had fixed up for Peter. It was an awkward handoff. Tony wasn’t sure how the phone would be received after the loss of his original phone, but Peter took it, even if he was making pained face as he did.  
“I put all your contacts in,” said Tony. “And I managed to save your pictures and videos from that last phone. They’re in there too.” 

“Thanks…” 

His reply was unenthusiastic, but it was a different kind than Tony’s been used to. It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested, it was that his interest was somewhere else. Peter’s gaze was down, fixated on the blueprints laid across Tony’s worktable, and Tony fought a grin. He set the trap, and Peter was about to fall for it. 

“… what are you working on? Is that –“

“I’m building the Death Star,” said Tony. “Scaled down, of course, but it’s going to –“

“Shoot lasers?” 

“Yup.”

There was something playing out in Peter’s expressions, like he was wavering between suspicion from excitement. Tony knew that Peter knew that they never really stopped playing chess, that this was for Peter and that it was another one of his schemes to make him feel better, but Tony also knew from his expression that Peter was warring with himself, that he was trying to calculate whether the building the Death Star was worth letting Tony win this one. 

“You can stick around and help if you want.”

“Really?” It was back in his eyes. A spark of excitement and curiosity, a flicker of the real Peter Parker, the one trapped in the misery trying to get out. 

“I can always use an extra set of hands down here.” 

It took hours to build their fully operational model of the Death Star, but it was time well spent. Peter lost that perpetual frown. It turned into rock solid concentration as he helped him with every step of the building process. 

Once they were done, it hovered in the middle of the workshop. It was just a tiny black orb, but it was armed with a powerful weapon. Tony wondered, briefly, if he should be teaching Peter to deal with his problems by creating something so dangerous, but the thought died once he saw how excited he looked, how ready he was to see their creation in action. 

Tony drug scraps from a failed Iron Man suit prototype out in the middle of the workshop and made Peter put on goggles. They both ducked behind a table Tony turned on its side, just their eyes peered over the side as he clicked the button and powered it up. 

There was a series of sounds, a beam of bright light, and an explosion. It sent pieces of metal everywhere, and once the smoke cleared, there wasn’t anything left of the Iron Man prototype. 

“That. Was. So awesome!” said Peter. He fished the new cell phone out of his pocket and held it sideways. “Can we do that again? I need to record it so I can send it to Ned. Or maybe, can we take it back to New York? Then he can just come over and see for himself.” 

So maybe Tony really didn’t think this through. Maybe building an extremely dangerous weapon to cheer up a teenager wasn’t the most responsible idea in the world, especially since he was stuck with an actual, albeit smaller, Death Star. He didn’t have the heart to tell Peter they couldn’t take it back to the city with them, so he just nodded. 

The grin Peter gave him in return was worth the lecture he’d get from Pepper later on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know I originally wanted to update this everyday until it's finished, buuttt this whole cross country thing is more tiring than I thought it'd be, plus I'm with my firm and there's only so much hiding in your hotel room you can do before someone starts a weird, office rumor about you. Anyway, planning to get back to this on Sunday, when I'm back in my real, actual bed and home. 
> 
> I think, probably, my homesickness is the driving force behind some of the angst in this story.
> 
> Thanks so much for all your comments and kudos and everything else. I'd loved catching up with them between flights and in down time.


	5. the incredicoaster

Peter glared at Mr. Stark as the man adjusted a Mickey hat on his head. He took it off as soon as Mr. Stark’s arms fell back down at his sides and resisted the urge to stomp the hat into the ground or throw it away in a trash can. Either of those actions would just attract even more attention, and that was exactly what Peter was trying to avoid.

His efforts were in vain, though. It was literally impossible for Tony Stark not to attract all sorts of attention, especially in a place like that, where there were people swarming all around them, and since Peter, along with Happy, stood next to Tony Stark, he attracted all sorts of attention, too.

“This isn’t what I had in mind when I agreed to get out of the house, Mr. Stark,” said Peter. He watched as a gang of small kids, with their eyes glued to Mr. Stark, were pushed along by their parents. 

“Oh, come on, Pete,” said Mr. Stark. “This is Disneyland. The happiest place in the world.”

He wanted to melt right there on the concrete path just like the ice cream one of those kids had dropped in his shock over seeing Iron Man. 

Once, when Peter was younger, he wanted to go to Disneyland, or Disneyworld, or anywhere really, where he could see his favorite movies come to life, as if they were real. There was never enough money, though, and Peter wasn’t younger anymore. He was older. He knew movies were just movies, even if there were actors who got paid to dress up and pretend to be characters from them.  

He was certainly too old for Disneyland, or at least, too old to be escorted around a theme park by both a parental figure and a body guard. A very grumpy body guard at that. Not that Peter blamed Happy for his bad mood, he was right there with him, but every time Happy shouted at crowds of people to respect their perimeter, he wanted to vanish on the spot.

It was almost worse than Mr. Stark ambushing him with sunscreen in the parking lot while photo-happy crowds looked on. Almost. 

Peter could already see the headlines. Tony Stark and the Queens Orphan spend day at Disney. That’s what the press called him. It was either Queens Orphan, or Tony Stark’s ward. Peter didn’t know which one he liked the least.

“What do you want to do?” asked Mr. Stark, as he elbowed him. They came to stop by a giant park map.

“Go home,” said Peter.

He and Happy shared a look of mutual misery and agreement. At least Peter wasn’t wearing a black suit. He saw the sweat on Happy’s face and decided he might be shouting about perimeter’s too if he weren’t wearing shorts and t-shirt.

“You know the deal,” Mr. Stark told him. “Five rides and lunch, then we can go.”

Peter didn’t remember making a deal like that. He remembered that he was starting to feel better, starting to get up and out of his room more, when Mr. Stark convinced him he needed to get out of the house. He was under the impression they were just going to see a movie in theater, or maybe just out for lunch. Not that they were headed to Disneyland.

He didn’t understand why Mr. Stark wanted to torture him this badly, but if he was going to be tortured, he planned on taking the other two with him.

“Can we get lunch first?” asked Peter. It was just ten thirty, but Peter wasn’t eating because he was hungry. “I’m starving.” 

“Sure.”

They found the place that served the giant turkey legs and scarfed them down, then Peter led the two men to the roller coaster he was sure would annoy Mr. Stark the most, the Incredicoaster. 

“You want me, an actual superhero, to go on a ride with you dedicated to cartoon superheroes?” asked Mr. Stark 

“Yeah,” said Peter. He shrugged. “It’s the fastest.”

He knew his roller coaster history. He didn’t want to say so out loud, fearing it would only encourage Mr. Stark in all his antics, but he loved rides, loved spending summer days in Coney Island with Ned. Even after the spider bite, there wasn’t anything like a good roller coaster. Only swinging through Queens as Spider-Man could compare.

“Alright,” said Mr. Stark. “Let’s go.”

Mr. Stark directed him to the fast pass lane, and Peter bit his lip while they walked passed the people waiting patiently, or not so patiently, in the standard line. Having unlimited FastPasses didn’t feel natural for him, so he kept his head down until they got to the front, where they only waited a couple of minutes to be let on the ride.

“I’ll meet ya on the other side, boss,” said Happy.

“You’re not coming, too?” asked Peter. “Afraid of it? This is a little kid–“

“-I’m not afraid of the roller coaster,” said Happy. “I’m here to keep you two from getting trampled. Not to go on rides.”

“Sounds like fear to me, Mr. Stark.”

“Kid’s got a point, Hap." 

Happy narrowed his eyes, and sneered, but ultimately followed them past the gate and onto the ride. They nabbed the cart in the very back. He and Mr. Stark sat up in the first two seats and left the one in the back for Happy to occupy by himself.

The ride started and Peter felt something familiar during takeoff. A flicker of something he hadn’t felt since Spider-Man, since he lost his powers and stopped caring that he lost them. There was a rush that came with slicing through the air and looping upside and also, a genuine laugh that escaped from him as he listened to Happy’s terrified screams coming from behind them.

It wasn’t until the ride screeched to a halt back at the beginning that Peter realized that he did care about losing his powers. For the first time, he wanted them back. Desperately.

“I hate both of you,” said Happy. 

Peter laughed again as they exited the cart, but this time, it was forced.

Mr. Stark wore the same expression, and his eyes were still behind his sunglasses. Though his hair now stuck up in several different directions, Mr. Stark seemed completely unphased by the ride. It was Happy that stopped to lean over into a trashcan and puke up the turkey leg.

It was a short-sighted scheme. Of course, Iron Man wouldn’t be phased by a roller coaster in Disneyland.

“Wanna go again?” asked Mr. Stark.

Peter looked back at the Incredicoaster. “Yeah.”

He did want to ride again, and not just to fill Mr. Stark’s quota. He wanted to feel close to Spider-Man, as close as a roller coaster would let him get, anyway.

“I’m sitting this one out,” said Happy. 

Peter shared a grin with Mr. Stark, but they didn’t pressure him anymore. They got back in fast lane, rode the coaster more than five times, and by the time they left the park, Peter didn’t really care about the cameras and people anymore. He was too exhausted. Tired enough, even, to allow himself to fall asleep on Mr. Stark on the drive home. 

Later that evening Peter sat by the pool with his feet dipper into the water.

At some point his bedroom stopped being his favorite place in the Malibu house, and it became right there, poolside, where he had good view of the ocean down below. It was seconded only to the workshop. Sometimes Mr. Stark let him blow up stuff with the Death Star, but they were running out of things to destroy.

He heard the door behind him slide open, and when Mr. Stark sat down beside him, Peter thanked the stars up above for being out. Better them than the sun and having Iron Man chase him down with a bottle of sunscreen again. 

“Did you have fun today?” asked Mr. Stark.

“Yeah,” said Peter. “I just… don’t like people taking pictures. They’re not going to leave me alone now, though, are they?”

“Afraid not.”

Peter suspected as much. He figured it was worth it, though. He rather have to deal with the drama of being Tony Stark’s ward than the drama of belonging to the state. He also suspected today was more about getting Peter used to the attention than it was about fun. Mr. Stark did always seem like the type that would throw someone in the deep end to teach them to swim.

“You did good,” said Mr. Stark. “When we get back to the city it’ll almost be like you were born a Stark.”

Peter gripped the edges of the pool a bit tighter. He knew Mr. Stark didn’t mean anything by the comment, but the thought terrified him, the thought of losing himself completely and becoming a whole other person. He already lost so much of his old life. He already lost May.

“Mr. Stark,” said Peter. He wasn’t brave enough to ask before, but in that moment, he was more afraid of what might happen to him if he didn’t. “Why did my aunt leave?”

He thought about how that conversation went all the time, about how Mr. Stark and Aunt May came to this decision to change his life forever without even talking to him about it.

“I don’t know, Peter.”

“It’s because Spider-Man.”

“No.” 

“Yes, it is. Everything was fine before then, that’s when everything got messed up.” 

“Look Peter, it’s got nothing to do with you,” said Mr. Stark. Peter knew what he was going to say next. “She’s figuring some things out.”

He always said that, and it just made Peter believe he had something to hid, convinced him even further that he was right. May didn’t want a superhero teenager. She wanted a normal teenager. How could he want his powers back and his aunt at the same time? And how could he sit out by the pool and let Mr. Stark comfort him when he knew he was lying?

It made his head spin, so he sighed, and nodded, and let Mr. Stark think he believed him. Peter could lie, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more left! And I'm finally back home, lol for awhile there I didn't think I would ever get back, so I'm hoping to finish this off tomorrow!! Thanks so much for sticking around through this weird and random uploading schedule. `


	6. lost again

Peter didn’t get out of the bed the next day.

He laid on his back and stared at the ceiling, blinking slow and silent tears away. The grief hit him when he woke up, and it was disorientating. He’d been feeling better. He’d been starting to enjoy Malibu, with all its sunshine and warmth. Now he was back where he started, pulling his comforter over his head and waiting with a bit of dread for Mr. Stark or Pepper to force him out of bed.

He didn’t feel up to dealing with another one of Mr. Stark’s schemes. He didn’t even feel up to floating around in the pool or asking Mr. Stark to supervise him while he blew up stuff with the Death Star.

He just wanted to be left alone in his bedroom, to be empty and broken where no one could see that he was empty and broken. That way he wouldn’t have to feel weak or guilty about still feeling sad when everyone around him tried their best to make everything okay. It wasn’t fair. Not for him, or for Mr. Stark, or for Pepper, for this emptiness and numbness to sneak up on him right at the very moment he thought he was getting better.

A soft knock on his door marked the end of his alone time. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, flipped over on his belly and buried his face in one of his pillows. As the door slowly creaked open, Peter assumed it was Pepper’s turn to drag him out of bed. She was the gentle one, but when Peter heard a worried, tired sigh as the bed dipped down, he knew it was Mr. Stark.

He played dead. He didn’t move or breath to loudly or do anything at all to communicate to Mr. Stark that he was awake. He hoped, maybe, Mr. Stark would take pity on him and let him sleep.

He put his hand on Peter’s back, the same way he had that night he almost died from alcohol and food allergies, and it took him a bit to realize it wasn’t in attempt to pull him from his dreams. Mr. Stark probably knew he was awake, probably heard about his distress from FRIDAY, and probably his hand was there for comfort.

Peter relaxed a bit. There’d be no more schemes. Not in that moment.

“I’m sorry, Pete,” he said, and Peter frowned into the pillow. He hadn’t been expecting an apology. It came out of nowhere, just like Peter’s grief, and now that Mr. Stark was apologizing, he was certain the man didn’t have anything to apologize for. “I keep trying to make things better for you, but I’m in over for head here. I don’t know what I’m doing, and you just keep getting hurt.”

Peter wondered if he was talking about his crushed phone, or riding around on roller coasters that was fun, at first, until it reminded him of what he didn’t have and why he could never have it again. Or maybe he could. He still remembered Mr. Stark’s confidence that night on the beach. If he still had a vision for Spider-Man, maybe that was enough to keep it going until Peter could see it again, too.

He lifted his face, shifted under the comforter and Mr. Stark’s hand, and turned around. 

“I heal fast.”

At least he used to. 

“And it’s not your fault,” said Peter. He sat up slowly. “At least you try and sometimes you get it right and you know, you’re around-“

Mr. Stark cut him off by putting his arms around his frame and holding on tight. Peter didn’t understand it, how or why his depression seemed to affect everyone around him so much. Hell, he didn’t understand why Mr. Stark cared about him so much in the first place, or why he was holding onto him like that, like he might be dragged away or under a riptide if he let go.

He didn’t want to question it, though, or attribute it to the faint smell of alcohol on Mr. Stark’s breath or his guilt. He just wanted to be there with Mr. Stark. He’d been wrong before. Being empty and broken was worse when he was alone.

“What can I do to help you today, Pete?”

He paused. His first instinct was to tell him that he just wanted to go back to sleep, but he knew, even if it was annoying, that Mr. Stark was right. He couldn’t sleep his life away. This was the first time he got to choose the way he coped, and he wanted to show Mr. Stark he could make good decisions on his own, without his helicoptering. Besides, he truly did think of something better than sleeping.

Peter wiggled out of his hold, and hesitantly, Mr. Stark let him.

“Could we… watch a movie? In the theater?”

“I’m invited?” asked Mr. Stark, with an arched eyebrow. Peter nodded, and Mr. Stark jumped off the bed. “Alright, let’s do it, then.”

Peter stood up, ready to follow Mr. Stark down to the theater, but also, not completely ready to leave his bed behind. He made a compromise and stripped the comforter away from his bed. Mr. Stark looked him up and down.

“Really?” he asked. “We had blankets in the theater, in the closet –“

“-I like this one,” said Peter.

He just sighed and let Peter struggle with the linguists of moving a king sized comforter down a flight of stairs and into the theater.

Mr. Stark split off to the kitchen to get some snacks, leaving Peter to enter the theater alone. He threw his comforters in the front seats, then looked down. It was a mess of empty soda cans and candy wrappers and empty chip bags. Apparently, when Mr. Stark locked the theater, it was locked even to the housekeeper.

He stared at it, then acted on impulse. He picked up as many as he could carry at one time and dumped them in the trash can near the door. He went back just one last time for the rest, until it was gone, until there were just a few crumbs littering the floor. 

When Mr. Stark came back, he had a giant bowl of popcorn he sat between them, a soda for Peter and a bottle of water for himself.

“Star Wars?”

“Nah,” said Peter. “I’m tired of that one. You pick.”

The giant screen in front of them came to life, and soon Peter was lost again. This time on the sea, with pirates, instead of in space with rebels. He wasn’t lost, alone, either, and somehow, that made all the difference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this one was short, but I felt like it was a good ending for this segment of the series. I'm working on the next one for this series, but it might be a bit because I'm also working on finishing up my other series. 
> 
> Also, that trailer for Far From Home was everything.

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo, here's the next one is this series. These are gonna be super short chapters, but I'm hoping to post every day. I'm traveling this week, and I want this fic to be my distraction from being up 30,000 feet, as well hopefully entertaining for you guys! Thanks so much for reading!!


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